


sweet baby, i need fresh blood

by tagteamme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: - ariane grande voice - it's equality, Alternate Universe - College/University, Extreme Thirst, Extremely Bad Humor on Behalf of Author, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Romance, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Vampires, kind of, lotor - Freeform, they're both giant disaster gays, wink wonk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: Keith and his friends try to summon a vampire.Someoneis summoned.Hunk, Lance, and Romelle all run off in three different directions, leaving Keith rooted to the spot where the sigil is. The sigil with his blood.  Against his best interests, Keith slowly turns on his heel.The man he comes face-to-face with has hair that shines silver underneath the distant lamp light. He’s got a thick scar sitting starkly across the bridge of his nose, and is wearing a long black overcoat.“What are you doing here?” The man’s voice is rough, deep, obviously agitated.





	sweet baby, i need fresh blood

**Author's Note:**

> As part of the VLD Halloween Sheith Exchange, here is my gift for [runonthewind](http://runonthewind.tumblr.com/) / [existence_proof](https://twitter.com/existence_proof) . I did a mishmash of your requests with a small twist, I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> title is from fresh blood by the eels

 

Thunder cracks ominously above them and sends a shiver down Keith’s spine. The full moon has long left them, hidden behind thick rolling clouds. There’s no rain, no lightning yet, but Keith’s not looking forward to the impending downpour they’re inevitably going to get caught in. 

“This should be good,” Lance says as he taps out the remainder of the mountain ash. According to the internet, mountain ash is for trapping werewolves, but according to the stall merchant at the country fair Lance procured the ash at, it’s good enough to summon vampires.

They’re standing at an unmarked grave at the far northwest corner of the local cemetery. Legend has it that the occupant of the grave has long left the soil, re-emerging from the dead. They’ve been described as a ghost, a ghoul, a demon. The latest iteration states that they’re a vampire and Keith thinks that’s the most likely, less because he doubts the existence of the others and more because he had read a newspaper report from fifteen years ago that had stated that some kids mucking around there had found an empty coffin. So they’ve gotten together on a full moon with a sigil that’s supposed to summon vampires according to three separate archived Geocities pages.

Under the dim light from a nearby lamppost Romelle checks the sigil against the sheet of paper she’s brought along while Hunk hums in approval. Keith looks around, keeping an eye out for any cryptkeeper who would happily call the cops on four university students messing around. To be fair they _are_ trespassing, but it’s all in the name of the greater good. Sort of. Lance calls this a scientific pursuit, Hunk calls it a dumb idea that he’s into, Romelle is procrastinating on studying for a mid-term and Keith secretly believes in all the lore.

“Ready?” Lance asks, and Keith nods. He unsheaths the knife he has tucked into his waistband— if his mother knew that _this_ is what he would use it for, he’s sure he’d get an earful from now till the end of time. Keith didn’t exactly volunteer to be the blood sacrifice, as it were, but it’s either nick his palm a little or pay for an Uber the next time they all go out.

There’s another loud boom of thunder above them and Keith kind of hopes that this doesn’t work. He would _kill_ to find out whether or not the legend is real, but it’s also a cold fall day and if he gets sick (or killed by the undead) before his next lab he’s going to be screwed. Keith holds his hand above the sigil, while all four of them close their eyes. Lance and Romelle start chanting in unison, while Hunk recites a single verse in Latin. Keith squeezes, feels the blood trickle down his palm, and shakes his hand a little so that it drops down onto the sigil.

He counts backwards from ten, deeply inhales, and opens his eyes in unison with his friends. They look around at each other, faintly bathed in the soft blue light of the LED lamppost. Lance’s eyes widen, and Romelle starts stuttering. Hunk looks like a deer in headlights, and the thunder echoes above them.

“Keith,”  Hunk starts, and Keith knows from the tone of his voice that it’s not good news. He feels the hair on the back of his neck start to prick up, feels the skin on his arms raise as he feels the heavy weight of a presence behind him. It’s exceedingly ominous, and by the looks on his friends faces, they’re absolutely _fucked_.

And then they run.

Hunk, Lance, and Romelle all run off in three different directions, leaving Keith rooted to the spot where the sigil is. The sigil with his blood.  Against his best interests, Keith slowly turns on his heel.

The man he comes face-to-face with has hair that shines silver underneath the distant lamp light. He’s got a thick scar sitting starkly across the bridge of his nose, and is wearing a long black overcoat.

“What are you doing here?” The man’s voice is rough, deep, obviously agitated. Keith stutters, opens and closes his mouth. All that comes out is a small yelp. The man steps forward, and sheet lightning bursts above them, illuminating the man. He looks otherworldly, looks ethereal with white hair and a sharp jaw, and he looks _furious_. So Keith does the first thing that comes to his mind.

He runs.

  
  


* * *

  
 

Shiro hates the cold. He grew up in a sleepy beach town on the west coast and hates the fact that he has to suffer the damp and frigid falls of the northeast. 

“Maybe buy a proper jacket next time,” Lotor tells him, as he hasn’t been trying to hide the fact that he’s shivering under his own overcoat as they walk down the street. Shiro mimics him, complete with the poor rendition of the Queen’s English that Lotor’s taken up to hide his Geordie accent. “I think it’s going to rain again.”

“Want to cut through the cemetery?” Shiro asks, and Lotor looks at him weird. “What?”

“A cemetery?” Lotor asks, and Shiro nods. “At night?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, not quite seeing what the problem is. “It gets you to the library seven minutes faster.”

“Whatever,” Lotor replies, exhaling through his nose. Shiro knows he’s not keen on getting dirt on his loafers, but it’s Lotor’s fault for wearing loafers to begin with. They’ve just finished an evening meeting with their strategic management professor, one that they both dressed up for despite Slav showing up in jeans and a faded _WELCOME TO FLORIDA_ shirt.

“Is this where you ran into those weirdos last month?” Lotor asks as they approach the entrance of the cemetery, and Shiro snorts.

“I think they were just kids from the university messing around,” Shiro replies as their feet crunch across the ground. “I think one of them works with Matt’s sister and two of them were wearing varsity jackets.”

“I love that you scared them off like that,” Lotor says as they make their way down the tree-lined path. “Do you think they were trying to do some ritual?”

They probably were. Shiro had approached them out of curiosity, which is a poor indication of his self-preservation. After the last one of them had run away, Shiro had seen something glinting in the ground. He had crouched down and picked up a hunting dagger, dropping it immediately upon closer inspection. It had a streak of something dark and wet on it, something that Shiro assumed was blood. He had thought about calling after the last guy that ran away, but decided to leave it. He had looked spooked enough at Shiro’s presence, and Shiro had been eager to get home before it started to really pour.

“Hey,” Lotor elbows Shiro, and Shiro hums. “Is that them?”

Shiro squints in the dark to where Lotor’s pointing, and sees four people in the distance, backlit by one of the streetlamps of the graveyard. The shapes look vaguely familiar, so Shiro shrugs.

“Do you think they’re doing another ritual?” Lotor asks. Shiro had told him that he had first been drawn in by the weird chant that he had heard in the cemetery, and Lotor and Matt had both informed him in no uncertain terms that were this to be a horror movie, Shiro would be the first one to die.

“Maybe,” Shiro says, then gets an idea. “Want to check it out?”

“Definitely,” Lotor says, amused. Quietly, they veer off their path towards the group. Shiro and Lotor tread as lightly as possible as they approach them, and Shiro can hear them chanting something similar again.

“Do you think they’re trying to summon something?” Lotor whispers, and Shiro presses a finger to his lips to quiet him. “Oh my god, what if they thought they _summoned_ you?”

That would explain the chanting and the look of absolute fear in their eyes when they had opened them and seen Shiro standing behind them. It would also explain the speed at which three of them abandoned their fourth friend.

“We should go over there,” Lotor half whispers, half gestures. “So that they think they summoned both of us.”

It would be a cruel prank to play, and an extremely believable one too; Lotor’s recently dyed his hair a bright white for reasons unknown to everyone. Lotor also consistently looks and talks like he’s auditioning to be a cartoon villain. Shiro’s pretty sure that if both of them appeared, it could possibly scare the group shitless.

“Yeah,” Shiro grins. “Let’s do it.”

The group is still chanting as Shiro and Lotor approach them. Lotor quietly rounds the circle, standing diametrically opposite from Shiro. Shiro’s decided to stand behind the same guy from last time, just to play with him. There’s more light this time; a lanky boy in the group has an electric lamp, as does Shiro’s target. Lotor tips his chin up and widens his eyes as he prepares himself, and Shiro has to physically restrain himself from snickering. Lotor puffs out his chest, and gives Shiro a short wink right before the group stops chanting.

Shiro clears his throat, and he can see the guy in front of him go rigid at the sound. Slowly, he lifts up the lamp and turns around to face Shiro. The orange light of the lamp illuminates sharp eyes, and Shiro’s ever glad that he’s great at keeping a poker face because this man looks _gorgeous_.

“Enough,” Shiro says before he breaks character, and watches as deep fear flashes across all four faces. “Why are you summoning me?”

“Oh god,” the lanky guy near Lotor near-squeals, almost dropping his lamp. The guy in front of Shiro is fixated on him, eyes wide and terrified. Shiro feels bad. Almost. But then Lotor lets out a laugh, loud and melodramatically evil. It’s potentially the most terrible thing Shiro has heard in his entire laugh; it sounds horribly campy, and he’s glad that the guy in front of him spins around and yelps so that he can press his lips together in amusement.

Lotor cuts a more intimidating figure at six foot five with his grey eyes and bright white teeth that glint sharp in the light. He raises his arms in a welcoming manner, and the group shrinks back.

“Who dares intrude on my home?” Lotor booms, accent enunciated as the group shrinks back. They don’t seem to register that Lotor is delivering his lines with all the pomp of an amateur theatre actor. “Who are you?”

“Leave,” Shiro chimes in, pitching his voice as low as possible. “Leave, and never come back. Do not bother us again.”

“If you do,” Lotor grins at them, manic. “Do not expect to make it out.”

To their credit, this time the group doesn’t completely abandon one of their members as they run away yelling and flailing into the night. To his own credit, Shiro waits till the sounds of their terrified footsteps have far faded before he bursts out into laughter, loud and clear in the night. Lotor laughs again in his evil laugh, and Shiro thinks a tear starts to form in the corner of his eye.

Three days later Shiro stops by the campus cafe before it closes for the night, determined to get a large cup filled purely with espresso so that he can tear through a stack of reports. As he’s trying to push in past a crowd of drunk sorority girls, he catches a glimpse of a familiar varsity jacket with the name _GARRETT_ stamped across the back.

Beside the wearer of the jacket, there is a shorter, leaner man with black hair and dark eyes that Shiro recognizes as the one of the wannabe-witches from the cemetery. Shiro will realizes two things; first, the man has an exceedingly poor taste in clothes because it’s early October and he’s wearing cargo shorts and a ratty neon orange sweater. Shiro’s not huge on fashion, but the importance of appearances has been ingrained so deeply into his brain over the course of his masters that his eyes hurt a little when he stares at the sweater for more than three seconds.

Second— the man is unfairly attractive. Shiro had gotten a glimpse of it in the graveyard, but it’s more aggressively obvious in the better lighting that the cafe offers. Shiro’s not quite sure what to focus on first, but he’s got one of the most hypnotic faces Shiro has ever seen. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but his bangs fall around his face, making him look almost feral. There’s something magnetic about the way he looks and it somehow explains the fact that Shiro’s caught him twice now in a cemetery trying to do magic, as it were.

He doesn’t seem to notice Shiro as him and his friend also try to push past  the gaggle of laughing girls, and Shiro tries to push him from his mind.

It works, but only for a little bit.

 

* * *

  
 

Keith doesn’t intend to have a supernatural-related life-crisis in the middle of a diner at 3 a.m in the morning. But it’s leagues better than having a school-induced panic attack in his own dorm room. 

“Say it again, but slower,” Hunk slurs, and Lance snores in agreement from where he’s resting his head on Hunk’s shoulder. The three of them are plastered off their faces and trying to calm down via killing as much bacon and eggs as possible. Keith nods and the action makes him woozy, so he shoves another piece of bacon into his mouth.

“I had a dream about the vampire,” Keith says again, slowly. Hunk immediately lurches forward and clamps his hand over Keith’s mouth. Lance grumbles and wakes up, his pillow having left him.

“Shut up!” he hisses, looking around frantically. “We can’t let anyone find out.”

The diner is relatively empty and quiet, save for the chime of the door opening. The three of them and Romelle have been freaked out for the past few weeks, and rightfully so; they’ve summoned a vampire and as of a few days ago, it seems like they’ve summoned two. At first, Keith had thought it was an elaborate prank by one of them. It turned out that the other three thought the same of each other as well, and that no one has actually hired people to scare their friends.

Keith has always believed in the occult; he just hasn’t been very open about it. But he’s grown up with stories from his mother and his aunts and his uncles, grown up with stories from his father about shadows that had existed beyond their property line. He outgrew the more juvenile stories, but he’s always had a small inkling of belief in the supernatural.

And now the others do too. Since their first encounter, they have all been treading with extreme caution; Hunk pretends it’s a coincidence that he’s been cooking with a lot more garlic nowadays, while Romelle and Lance both have silver chains tucked under their shirt. Keith’s retrieved his mom’s knife from the graveyard, and sleeps with it under his pillow.

The second encounter has solidified their fear and belief, and Keith winces at the thought that they’ve somehow summoned _two_ vampires, one that is taller and significantly more sinister than the last one. Part of him still thinks - _hopes_ \-  it might all just be a fever dream or a shared hallucination. They’re not sharing the story with anyone they know, lest they come off as crazy or get a target on their back. By who, Keith’s not quite sure, but he doesn’t want to find out what happens when one earns the ire of the undead.

Keith gives Hunk a bleary look before he continues.

“I had a dream about the one with the scar,” he says a little softer to Hunk’s approval. “Last night.”

“Was it a sexual one?” Lance asks, yawning. “You looked pretty into him.”

It’s rich words coming from someone who couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night after both the first and second ritual, and has been religiously reading up on how to kill vampires even though everyone in the group full and well knows that none of them are actually cut out for murder. Eldritch yet inexplicably attractive beings included.

“Shut up,” Keith balls up a napkin and throws it at Lance’s face. It misses and lands in Hunk’s lap, and ever the helpful friend, Hunk lobs it back so that it hits Keith square in his forehead. “I’m being serious.”

“Ignore him,” Hunk says in an approximation of a prim voice. “Tell me about your dream.”

Keith opens his mouth, about to tell Hunk that it was just a simple dream where he was standing in the graveyard, the white haired man standing fifty feet away from him, illuminated by a ring of fire when something catches his attention from the corner of his eye. Keith turns his head, and his spoon drops from his hand with a loud clatter on the plate.

Standing under the bright orange streetlamp in the diner parking lot is the white-haired man with the scar. He’s in the same long black coat, with a hallowed and flat expression. He’s staring directly at Keith, gaze boring into him through the thick glass windows. When he sees Keith looking, he nods, slow and deliberate.

“Dude-” Hunk starts, but follows Keith’s line of sight and yelps. Keith’s head immediately snaps forward, gesturing at Hunk to shut up as Hunk looks positively mortified. “Oh my god, did he come for us?”

“He must have come for Keith,” Lance says frantically, starting to slide underneath the dining table. Keith kicks his feet so that he stays up, and Lance kicks him back. “It’s his blood we used after all.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Keith hisses, looking back out the window. The man is gone, vanished like a ghost. Keith feels dread rise within him, intricately braided in with something that he will absolutely refuse to voice out loud lest he sound like a creep.

(It’s attraction.)

(And Keith would rather get his blood completely drained than admit it to either one of his friends.)

 

* * *

 

“You are _such_ a jackass,” Matt laughs in between mouthfuls of his double-sausage triple-egg bagel. Shiro has second-hand nausea from the staunch smell of oil that emits from both the good and Matt. A fleck of egg lands on the dashboard of Shiro’s black Mustang, and Shiro’s eyebrow twitches. 

“What?” Shiro asks innocently, and Matt shoves his shoulder with a greasy hand.

“I saw you standing outside of the diner,” Matt replies. “It’s ‘cus of those kids, right? Lotor told me you were terrorizing one of Pidge’s friends.”

Matt had found the story endlessly funny. It probably has to do with the fact that Lotor embellished it, but Shiro has to admit that it’s still amusing. They had correctly ID’d the lanky guy as one of Pidge’s coworkers and friends, something that had made Matt cackle even louder.

“I was trying to get you to hurry up,” Shiro says, and it’s sort of true.

He’s only here because Matt doesn’t have his own car and has promised him food if he helps him fulfill his late night craving. Initially, Shiro had only wanted to pressure Matt into hurrying up. Seeing the others there had just been an added bonus to his night and as soon as the dark-haired one had looked away, Shiro had jogged back into the shadows so that he could go undetected.

“I wonder what they think you are,” Matt says, and Shiro shrugs. “Demon, maybe? A ghost?”

“A demon, probably,” Shiro replies. “Especially since they saw Lotor too.”

“He’s going to like that you said that,” Matt says, and Shiro scoffs. Lotor’s taking a little more enjoyment than Shiro has in terrorizing what they have now identified as a group of somewhat gullible undergrad students. Shiro finds it extremely entertaining as well, but also finds himself intrigued. He reminds himself to ask Pidge what the name of the dark-haired one is, but has to first think of a way to deliver his question that belies his actual interest.

 

* * *

 

   
It’s not late. It’s barely even reaching ten. But Keith wakes up with a sudden gasp— he had fallen asleep in the middle of studying for a test, and has gotten a sizable puddle of drool over his notes. He groans, pushing the papers aside as he sits up in his bed. He rotates his head, cracking his neck and groaning as he stretches his arms above his head. Hunk has fallen asleep on his own with a physics textbook tented over his face, and Keith thinks he’ll give him another five minutes before he wakes him up. 

He heaves off his bed to stretch his legs and goes to turn on the room light. He hits the switch and makes his way over to draw the curtains, when he sees a familiar figure on the street across from his dorm.

Keith seizes up as he sees the white-haired man standing with his hands clasped in front of him, staring at nothing. Keith’s eyes widen but he can’t tear them away. Keith shifts and accidentally bumps the small potted red cap cactus he and Hunk keep on the sil. The man looks up and makes eye contact with Keith, and Keith immediately yanks the curtain shut, jumping away from the window. He counts to five in his head before he steps forward and tentatively draws the curtain.

The man is gone.

Keith lets out a breath that he did not know he was holding. He looks over his shoulder at his dorm door, and wonders if he should drag his chair over and prop it up under the door knob. He remembers the man’s piercing gaze, his sharp jaw and broad stature. Keith gulps, and leaves the door alone.

 

 

* * *

 

  
His name is Keith, and he’s majoring in mechanical engineering with an honours average. Matt’s sister has been kind enough to give Shiro that much information in exchange for a ride home from work. 

Keith and his friends believe that Shiro and Lotor are vampires that they summoned. They’re trying not to tell people, but Lance told Pidge because if one of them knows, both of them know. This tidbit of information costs Shiro two weeks worth of chauffeuring Pidge around, but it’s more than worth it. Shiro finds it extremely entertaining and slightly charming, and thinks that next time he’ll see Keith, he’ll come clean, apologize for the prank, and ask Keith if he can make it up to him over a dinner date. To be fair, he’s only done it on purpose once; the first time in the cemetery was a coincidence, as was the time in the parking lot and the time Shiro got off from his Uber at the wrong address and somehow ended up across the street from where Keith lives. Small university towns and all that.

For now though, he’s tipsy at the Halloween party the only half-decent club in town is offering with plastic fang caps glued onto his teeth. It’s for his own amusement; he’s yet to tell Lotor about any of the information he’s found out because Lotor would bring unending grief to the sophomores.

The club lights are a vivid red, and Lotor’s sequestered a booth for them on one of the elevated platforms on the floor. He’s dressed in a black cape with an obnoxious faux-fur trim, insisting he’s dressed as a viscount. Allura’s wearing a large tiara and a white wig so that she can match the two of them, while Matt’s thrown on reindeer antlers from Christmas and has called it a day. Allura and Matt are discussing going out onto the dancefloor, and Lotor pretends to be bored even though Shiro knows it’ll take only a few more drinks before both he and Matt are posturing for Allura’s attention.

They have a good view of the dance floor from where they’re sitting and Shiro can feel the bass rumble under the floor. Their bottle is running low, and Shiro feels a tap on his shoulder. Lotor holds out his (father’s) black card and smiles cheerfully at Shiro. Just for that, Shiro’s going to ensure that he picks up the shittiest mezcal he can find.

He steps off the platform and tries to make his way through the crowd. People seem to get extra handsy when they’re in costumes, but Shiro forges on forward through the throngs of people. Miraculously, no one spills a drink on him.

There’s a large crowd at the bar so Shiro wedges himself in at the counter and watches the bartender pour out five drinks for an over-excited group of sexy cops. Shiro catches the bartender’s eye, but there seems to be a decent number of people ahead of him, so he settles in to wait. He watches the bartender pour two more drinks, mildly fascinated by the way they flip the bottle between pouring out each glass. It gets boring quick though, so Shiro glances back over his shoulder, intending to crane his neck and see if he can see what his friends are up to in the distance.

Instead, he sees a familiar face in the midst of approaching the bar. Keith freezes, wide-eyed, and Shiro’s grateful for it because it gives him a chance to give Keith a once-over. Keith’s got on ripped jeans, fingerless gloves and a black leather jacket with what looks like motor grease smudged under his eyes. He’s got a collar around him too, but Shiro’s seen so many of those this night that he thinks that someone’s been handing them out at the door.

Shiro detaches himself from the counter and squares his shoulders. He’s losing his place in line, but he’s got a chance to talk to Keith. It’s significantly more appealing than buying tequila. Keith stays rooted as Shiro moves towards him, drinking in the sight. Keith looks like a treat taken straight from Shiro’s deepest desires and Shiro’s mouth goes dry at the sight. 

He makes it close enough to Keith that Keith has to tip his chin up to maintain eye contact. Something metal glints under the red light; the collar Keith’s wearing has a small D-ring through the front. A sharp pang of desire shoots through him, and whiskey-warm, his mouth slowly curls up into a smile. 

Because this is Shiro’s life, he belatedly remembers that he’s got extremely convincing fake fangs moulded onto his teeth. Keith catches the glint of the fangs, and it seems to snap him out of whatever spell he was under because he looks like he's about to run. 

“Keith,” Shiro says loud over the music. This makes Keith stop, and he raises his eyebrows. “Wait.”

“How do you know my name?” Keith demands and because he's still got alcohol sitting comfortably in his gut, Shiro thinks that now is a _fantastic_ time to crack a joke.

“You summoned me, didn't you?” Shiro says, and Keith goes wide eyed. “Do you want my name?”

Keith remains motionless so Shiro takes it as a yes. “My name is Shiro.”

Keith’s mouth opens, but he makes no sound. He looks utterly gobsmacked, and Shiro’s not sure how to proceed from here.Shiro blinks and Keith's gone, melted into the crowd like he himself is a supernatural being. Shiro exhales loud and frustrated.

It’ll be okay, he tells himself as he grudgingly makes his way back to the bar. He’s lost his place in line but Shiro thinks he deserves it.

Lotor chides him when he returns, telling him that he took way too long to grab the booze. Shiro pretends that he can’t hear over the music no matter how loud Lotor yells, and Lotor finally gives up and tries to flick an ice cube at Shiro. It misses by a mile, and he gives Shiro a flat look before he goes back to talking to a pretty girl that’s been eyeing the bottle Shiro brought to the table.

Shiro decides to leave him to it and throws back a shot before he goes out onto the floor again.

It’s ludicrous to think that in this packed club, he’s going to find Keith again. Shiro knows this. However, Shiro stands at a fairly commendable six feet and three inches and has maintained the same physique he had when he played college ball in his undergrad years. He’s also on the verge of being drunk and seems to constantly run into Keith so Shiro’s hoping that all these things will add up into some form of luck with him. He runs his tongue over his fangs, pushes sweat plastered bangs off his forehead, and forges into the crowd.  
  
  


* * *

 

Keith’s never been so screwed bad in his life. He’s also never wanted to _be_ screwed so bad in his life. This push-pull of fear and arousal that seems to be coursing through him at light-speed is mildly troubling, and Keith hopes he can make it through the night before spontaneously combusting. 

Seeing that man - _Shiro_ \- under the red light of the club had been nothing short of a religious experience. Seeing him without his overcoat on even more so. The image of the man in snug black Henley and dark jeans will forever be ingrained into Keith’s head. Though if Keith’s being honest, he doesn’t know if Shiro is actually dressed well or if Keith was taken in by the fact that he was built like a god who decided to see what was going on in the mortal realm. Keith remembers that this is someone sinister, someone who knows his name, someone who he’s _summoned_ and tries to get a hold of himself.

God.

He cranes his neck, looking for the familiar pillar where he had left Pidge and Lance. Pidge is dressed as Luigi and Lance has come as a Super Mushroom, making them incredibly easy to spot through the throngs of sexy cats and half-assed business casuals. Keith’s own costume is just his regular look plus a black collar Pidge’s dog had refused to wear. He doesn’t care too much for it, but it got him half off for cover at the door.

He sees Lance’s incredibly poorly made  red and white hat, and starts to shove through his crowd to make his way to his friends. He keeps an eye out for any tall and incredibly well built white haired men that he should pointedly not feel some sort of primal attraction to. When he reaches them, they immediately pick up on his grim mood.

“You okay?” Lance half-slurs half-yells over the din, and Keith grimaces.

“I saw…” Keith trails off, looking at Pidge. By now she knows about their shenanigans and also thinks that the two of them, Romelle, and Hunk are maybe the stupidest people she’s ever met. Lance presses a soda into his hand and encourages him to drink. It’s more rum than coke, but it loosens up Keith enough for him to curl his two index fingers and hold them up to his bared teeth.

Pidge rolls her eyes, and Keith continues to sip Lance’s drink while Lance looks mildly panicked.

“Should we leave?” Lance asks, and Keith shakes his head. He knows he looked like a deer in headlights when he ran into Shiro but this is a crowded place and he is not a complete coward. He also knows that Pidge will kill them both barehanded if they interrupt her night out.

“He knows my name,” Keith says loudly as someone jostles by him. “And he told me his. It’s Shiro.”

Pidge tips her head back to furiously chug down the bottle of Stella she has been nursing, while Lance folds his arms over his shoulder, his mushroom cap tipping precariously.

“Wait, that’s good right?” Lance says, frowning. “That means he trusts you. I read that somewhere.”

Keith doesn’t know for sure, so he cleans the glass of the drink before handing it back to Lance. He wipes the back of his mouth and shrugs, licking his lips. Lance glances around before reaching into the front of his white overalls and pulling out a tiny flask. Keith takes the bottle and springs open the cap, saluting Lance with it before he knocks it back.

The alcohol warms him as it slides down his throat, and it kills his nerves a little. He takes three glugs before Lance is prying it back from his hand and saying something about Keith being a selfish drunk, and Keith simultaneously thanks him and flips him off. 

“I’m going to go dance,” Pidge announces before placing her empty bottle down on a nearby round table. She starts walking into the crowd and obediently, Keith and Lance fall behind her. Keith’s feeling better now, even if he’s feeling a little light headed. The heavy thud of the music vibrates his bones, making him feel further tipsy.

Lance manages to grab onto Pidge’s hand while she guides them through the crowd but before Keith can grab onto Lance’s collar, a train of people in animal onesies cut through, holding onto each other for dear life as the tiger at the front barrages through the crowd. Keith curses as he’s cut off, and his friends disappear into the crowd. He cranes his neck, looking for Lance’s hat, and sees it far ahead. He tries to shove ahead, but gets bumped over by an over-excited firefighter.

Keith swears again as he loses track of Lance’s atrocious hat, and feels a large hand on his shoulder. Keith barely registers it before it’s spinning him around forcefully, making him come face to face with a… Keith’s not sure what costume a dress shirt with lazy scissor-cuts and a few drops of fake blood counts as, but the guy wearing it looks large and drunk and incredibly furious.

“You bumped my girl,” he says, simultaneously sticking his chest out and leaning in. The posturing does not scare Keith, nor does the terrible excuse for a fade the man sports. Keith normally apologizes in such a situation, but he’s has had a bit to drink and and has lost his friends, so he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Tell her to be more careful next time,” Keith says defiantly, and the guy’s eyes blow wide and angry. He shoves at Keith and Keith shoves back almost immediately, causing the guy to bump into a few of his friends who have turned to watch. This agitates the guy even further, and he launches forward, slamming his hands against Keith and shoving him back so hard that Keith goes careening into the crowd.

Keith windmills, having absolutely none of the grace he has while sober. Miraculously he doesn’t fall flat on his ass. He sends a curse up to the sky for being made a sloppy drunk, and tries to steady himself on his feet. The guy lurches forward again, but someone solid steps in front of Keith, causing the guy to stop dead in his tracks.

The familiar squares his shoulders and stares down the man, despite standing a good inch and a half shorter. He can’t hear what Shiro says, but the man starts to cower like he’s in a thrall. Which, given Shiro’s true nature, he very well could be. Shiro steps forward, and the man scrambles backwards, his friends grabbing him and pulling him into the crowd again. And with that, he’s gone.

Keith watches the flex of Shiro’s back and knows that he’s so, _so_ fucked. Keith knows he’s not going to run, even when Shiro turns around. He says something, but Keith can’t hear it over the blood and the music pounding in his ears. Shiro tries to call something out to Keith again, but all he can focus on is the large wave of arousal that washes through him when he sees the glint of fangs. Keith prays that somehow, the ground opens up and swallows him whole.

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t feel like protesting when Shiro grabs him by the elbow and pulls him through the crowd. Keith feels like he’s floating on air for minutes as Shiro tugs him over to one of the pillars in one of the outer areas, near the coat check. It’s not as loud here and Keith can hear Shiro clearly ask him if he’s okay.

“I think,” Keith says, scrubbing a hand over his face in hopes that it’ll sober him up a little. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You looked like you were in trouble,” Shiro says, reaching forward to idly fix Keith’s jacket. It’s a bizarre gesture, and Keith sinks further back against the pillar he’s propped up against. He knows he has to be scared of Shiro and also must run, but his brain is currently incapable of sending any messages to his own body past his knees. Shiro steps back, but Keith immediately grabs his wrist to stop him before dropping it.

God, he’s so drunk. He thinks. Keith’s not quite sure if it’s the booze or the way that Shiro’s looking at him, but he’s going to blame it on the former to avoid the uncomfortable questions about his id that come from the latter.

“Thank you,” he says, trying to maintain eye contact with Shiro. Keith’s not worried about coming off as scared as much as he’s scared of coming off as extremely horny. He’s going to have to have a long conversation with himself when he gets back to his dorm room, but for now he’s going to have to try to keep everything under a lid as he’s given a searing look. A moment passes, before Shiro steps in tentatively.

“I’m not what you think I am,” Shiro moves forward and when Keith offers no protest, starts to occupy Keith’s space. Keith can smell the cologne and booze as Shiro comes closer, and clenches a fist. “That night in the woods-”

“I’m sorry,” Keith blurts out loudly, and Shiro has the decency to look slightly surprised. “We were just fucking around. We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Shiro blinks.

“It’s fine,” he says, and Keith visibly shivers. “Don’t be scared of me. I’m-”

“I’m not,” Keith only half-lifes, and it takes every ounce of his fibre to not further explain that Shiro’s just intimidatingly handsome. “I don’t want fear.”

He tips his chin up in what he hopes is confidence, and watches as Shiro clearly gives his neck a once-over. Something changes in Shiro’s expression and Keith faintly wonders if it’s possible for vampires to read minds. It very well could be.

Shiro reaches up for Keith’s collar and flicks the metal D-ring hanging on the front. Keith’s eyes drop to the action, and without thinking, he licks his lips. He wonders if he’s under a spell of sorts, if Shiro is enacting some sort of dark magic on him. Shiro hooks a thumb through the ring and Keith watches, entranced as Shiro shifts his hand, the collar sliding around with it.

He presses the hand against the pillar behind Keith, and Keith finds himself pinned to it by his neck. Shiro leans in and Keith parts his mouth, aware that things are getting _dangerous_. For a long, long second Keith’s overwhelmed with the urge to feel those pointed teeth bite into his lip. He thinks it’s an urge that will be fulfilled too, by how close Shiro’s face is.

Shiro ducks, and Keith feels his breath over the column of his neck instead. Tentatively, his raises a hand to rest on one of Shiro’s biceps. It feels large and powerful underneath his hand.

“Is this what you want?” Shiro asks, and Keith nods without a second thought, growing increasingly pliant. “Want something more?”

Keith feels sharp teeth skim over skin, but can’t bring himself to tense up. So he slides his hand up Shiro’s shoulder, looping it around Shiro’s neck. Shiro’s big body covering his has him slowly losing any sense of self-preservation he has.

“ _Yes_ ,” Keith finds himself half-hissing. He should stop this, but this is also perhaps the most erotic thing that’s happened to him in his life. His brain short circuits the moment he feels pressure over the muscle connecting his shoulder and his neck.

Shiro _bites_ him. It’s not enough to draw blood, Keith can feel it. But it is enough for him to bite back an undignified sound and clutch onto Shiro as he worries the skin. Keith’s knees threaten to buckle, especially when Shiro runs a soothing tongue over the bite before pressing his fangs in again. It takes every ounce of self-control in his body to not thread his fingers through Shiro’s hair and pull him even closer.

Shiro pulls back with an absolutely wicked grin and Keith wonders briefly if there’s a ritual he needs to carry out to offer himself up because he’s more than ready to do it. Shiro’s attractive in a way Keith as a mere mortal can barely comprehend, and is looking at Keith with a type of hunger that can level a city. His thumb’s still hooked in Keith’s collar.

“Next time I can give you a real one,” Shiro says, the reverberations of his voice reaching Keith’s core. “If you want.”

Keith mumbles something unintelligible, something Shiro definitely can’t hear over the din. He thinks he might be dizzy from both the alcohol and how fast his blood’s flown south. Shiro steps back, but Keith clings onto his arm in a manner that’s exactly as pathetic as he as a person is. Shiro looks amused at this, and Keith drops his hand quickly before he can embarrass himself any further.

Keith closes his eyes and when he opens them again, Shiro’s gone.

 

* * *

 

There are few sounds in the world that are as annoying as Lotor’s grating laughter. One of them is the sound of Lotor’s grating laughter coupled in with Matt’s high pitched cackling, both of them directed squarely at Shiro. 

“He thinks _what_?” Lotor says as he breathes in deeply, bursting into another peal of laughter.

“Shut up,” Shiro grumbles, while Pidge helpfully supplies “He thinks Shiro’s a vampire. So does Lance and like two of their friends.”

Shiro regrets offering to pick up Pidge from her friend’s house on his way to drive Matt home. Lotor’s only there because his favourite chalupa shop is a two minute drive away and Shiro’s unofficial title in life is everyone’s chauffeur. To further this title, the three of them have piled on in the back seat and have been harassing him all morning.

The first thing Pidge had said upon entering Shiro’s car, fake moustache still glued to her face, was that Keith had a crisis in the middle of their drunk Denny’s post-club outing because he thought he was nurturing the hots for a vampire who essentially left him a hickey last night. Shiro hasn’t had an opportunity to feel self-satisfied that he wasn’t just imagining the look of immense desire in Keith’s eyes last night because everyone in the car has been too busy clowning him.

Lotor’s preening because as someone who’s done business for both his undergrad and his post grad, he loves finding things to hold over people and also because he secretly thinks vampires are admirable. Matt just finds it hilarious in general that anyone thinks that Lotor and Shiro are terrifying, though Matt often acts like his amygdala is more of a concept than an existing thing.

“You’re not seeking them out,” Shiro says firmly as they approach a red light. Lotor snorts, while Matt barks out another laugh.

“Is it ‘cus you _like_ him?” Matt singsongs happily, flicking the back of Shiro’s ear. Shiro swats his hand away, but feels the back of his neck burning and turning red.

“Yes,” Shiro replies bluntly, while Pidge helpfully supplies “He gave him a hickey, remember?”

Shiro’s cheeks start turning pink at that too. He had kept on trying to tell Keith that he isn’t a monster, a _vampire_ of all things, but that  he is interested in Keith. Keith didn’t let him say the first two things, but was happy enough to let Shiro show him the last one. Shiro only teased him a little before pulling away; he figures that both of them being drunk was a less than ideal time for him to come clean or to feel up on Keith any further. It’s all the more reason for him to find Keith and confess to him now.

“You won’t make fun of him,” Shiro says firmly, looking at the three of him through his rearview mirror. “Or his friends.”

“Because you’re going to ask him out?” Pidge asks, and Lotor snickers from beside him. “What if he says no?”

“You still won’t make fun of them,” Shiro says, even though the thought of Keith saying no starts to pre-emptively send a crack through his heart. “It doesn’t change anything. Also, I’m going to come clean to him first.”

“So noble,” Lotor comments primly, and Shiro reaches back to smack him while keeping his eye on the road.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Pidge asks, and Shiro thinks about it for a good five seconds before he shakes his head.

“I can talk to him myself,” he replies but Pidge continues on.

“What if he runs away from you?” she says, and flicks his ear too.  “Realizes that in the cold light of the day, you’re nothing but a vampire that’s to be feared.”

“Shut up,” Shiro chides, but sees Pidge give him an expectant look from the rearview mirror. “Fine, okay. Tell him I’m not a vampire. And then give him my number.”

 

* * *

 

“Come again?” Keith blinks. Pidge squints at him from across the table they’re sharing in the cafeteria. 

“Shiro’s not a vampire,” she says through her mouthful of shawarma. “He’s actually one of Matt’s friends. I feel like that’s worse than being a vampire.”

“Oh,” Keith replies. Well. There’s some sort of relief he feels at that. He also feels like a bit of an idiot for thinking he summoned a vampire with his friends. He thinks that he’s been hanging around Lance too much, and will blame it squarely on him and not on the fact that he has a tendency to gravitate towards supernatural. Keith will accept no responsibility for it. As long as—

“Also, he knows that you think he’s a vampire,” Pidge says. “He said he tried to tell you he wasn’t at the club, but you wouldn’t listen.”

Keith blinks, and feels the pit of his stomach fall through the ground. His eyes widen as Pidge’s words fully sinking in, and he’s never wished so hard or quick for a lightning bolt to come strike him. Death would be easier than the enormous tsunami of embarrassment that hits him full-fledged in the middle of cafeteria.

“Are you okay?” Pidge asks, but Keith doesn’t respond. He stares at his bacon mac-n-cheese instead, hoping it’ll grow sentient and bite his head off. It would be a softer pain. He doesn’t hear her tell him that Shiro wants to give him his number either.

* * *

  
 

Shiro can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous. He thinks his palms are sweating, but he’s going to blame it on the condensation from the iced latte he’s nursing. 

Pidge had told him that Keith had suffered aneurysm after aneurysm after finding out that Shiro was not a creature of the night. Shiro had been slightly confused about that until she also added on as an after-thought that she had told Keith that Shiro knew. It had made Shiro want to put his head through the wall, and Pidge had been completely nonplussed. After Shiro had finished sputtering and exclaiming and generally looking like a fool, she had asked him sweetly that for the cost of being her designated driver this upcoming Saturday, she could arrange for him to meet with Keith.

Shiro had agreed, and now he’s sitting and waiting for Keith to show up at the campus cafe. Shiro’s five minutes early, but he’s pretty sure he saw Keith lurking around the entrance. Pidge has informed him that he’s mortified and while Shiro doesn’t blame him, Shiro also feels bad about it. He’s gotten them a plate of scones to make up for it and hopes that he’ll be able to convince Keith that he doesn’t really have anything to feel bad about.

Right on the dot at 2:59, the door chimes and Keith steps into the cafe. Shiro watches from where he’s tucked into the back of the small shop as Keith looks around, and raises his hand so that Keith sees him. He tries to shoot Keith a warm smile, because Shiro’s resting face is apparently terrifying to most,  but Keith still looks nervous as he approaches Shiro.

“I didn’t know if you wanted to eat,” Shiro says in greeting, pushing the plate forward. “So I got us these.”

“Thanks,” Keith’s voice comes out raspy, and takes a seat without taking a scone.

“Did you have class?” Shiro asks, and Keith shakes his head. Shiro knows that if he doesn’t keep talking, they’re going to fall into an incredibly uncomfortable and awkward silence, so he soldiers on.

“Look,” he says, and Keith perks up a little. “I know that the situation is a little weird around all of this.”

Keith gives a short laugh at that, and Shiro tries not to beam at it. “You can say that again.”

“I just wanted to say that it’s okay,” Shiro says, and tries pushing the plate of scones a little closer to Keith. “I’m totally cool with the fact that you thought I was a vampire that you summoned.”

“What- are you making fun of me?” Keith’s brows furrowed, and Shiro immediately shakes his head.

“I’m not,” Shiro says, but Keith’s already turning rapidly pink. It’s distracting, and Shiro quickly finds himself stumbling over his own words. “I swear I’m not. I’m telling you that I’m okay with all of that, and that I’m sorry that I creeped you out before.”

“At the diner?” Keith asks, and Shiro sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“I was waiting for a friend,” he admits, making a face. “And then my ride had dropped me off at the wrong place and I think that was in front of your dorm?”

Keith groans, and buries his face in his hands. Shiro continues, hoping he’s on the right track. “And at the club— Pidge had told me by then that you thought I was a- a vampire, so when I saw you, I had wanted to come clean.”

“I know,” Keith moans into his hands. Shiro can feel the embarrassment radiating off of him from where he’s sitting. “I know, I’m sorry that I-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Shiro cuts him off. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry that my friend and I intruded on your friends and you.”

“I would have done the same,” Keith says, more to the plate of scones than to Shiro. “I would have done the same if I saw a bunch of idiot kids out in the cemetery.”

Keith drags his hand down his face, which has turned a fiery red by now. Shiro wants to reach out and pat him on the shoulder and tell him it’s okay, but it’s probably not going to be very welcome at the moment. Keith takes a deep inhale, then squints in Shiro’s direction.

“You bit me,” he says, and the tone of his voice has Shiro immediately panicking.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out. “I thought you wanted it-”

“I did,” Keith replies faintly, and Shiro sees very visible horror dawn on his face. “God. I thought you were a _vampire_. I’m such an idiot.”

“Sorry to disappoint?” Shiro tries, unable to discern whether Keith’s sounding disappointed or humiliated. Distantly, he wonders if this means that whatever attraction Keith might have had for him has dissipated now that he’s found out Shiro’s just a human. “I wanted to make it up to you, if that’s okay.”

“Make it up to me?” Keith’s voice is coming out strangled now, and this conversation is definitely not going as well as Shiro had hoped it would. Shiro is acutely aware in this moment that it’s been approximately five years since he’s genuinely asked anyone out.

“Yeah,” he replies, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “I’d like to get to know you better. And I’d like to make it up to you for however much I creeped you out.”

Keith stares at Shiro. Shiro thinks he’s going to start to sweat. Keith looks like he's already in the process of doing so.

“I am incredibly embarrassed,” Keith says in lieu of a response. “I have to go.”

Abruptly, Keith gets up. Shiro blinks, and Keith’s already at the door of the cafe by the time Shiro fully registers what happens. Keith gives him an apologetic wave, one that Shiro returns, perplexed. The door chimes, and Shiro’s left to stare at his plate of scones and wonder if that constituted as a full rejection or not.

 

* * *

 

   
The words swim in front of Keith’s face. He’s pretty sure some of them shift and form the words _FUCK YOU_ , but it could also be because this textbook has been written in a way that is mind-numbingly boring. He’s not slept more than a handful of hours this week, and it’s started to take its toll on him. 

So has his ongoing crisis with the fact that he’s chickened out with possibly the hottest man to ever pursue Keith. Shiro seems earnest in a way that people in the university’s business school usually aren’t, and he seems to genuinely not care that Keith thought he was a vampire for a few weeks. Keith’s still embarrassed on a level that’s bone deep and critical, and doesn’t think he’ll be able to ever look Shiro in the eye again.

Keith shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He’s already felt incredibly bad for turning down Shiro, part because of aforementioned hotness but also because Shiro seemed genuinely so sweet in a way Keith didn’t fully register until his haze of embarrassment had passed. Three minutes after Keith had ditched, he had felt regret on a behemoth level and had barely managed to stop himself from turning around and running after Shiro and telling him he changed his mind.

It feels like a loss, and Keith’s been kicking himself internally because people like Shiro don’t stay single for long. He’s still in disbelief that the other man likes him, is attracted to him. Was attracted to him. Keith’s not quite sure where he stands after he ran away.

Maybe after Keith’s gotten over his world-ending mortification, he’ll be able to somehow befriend Shiro. A week has barely dilated any of the emotions surrounding the situation and Keith feels like on some level, he needs to apologize too.

For now, he thinks he’s going to call it a night. It’s late anyways, and looking at his notes feels like he’s looking into the depths of his own shortcomings as a human being. It’ll be easier to do that from the comfort of his own bed.

His phone screen lights up just as Keith starts to think about packing his books in. Keith drags down the message preview and groans as he reads the message from Hunk telling him to stay out of their room for an hour or two.  Keith tries to give the phone a dirty enough look while typing his one letter response so that Hunk can feel it when he reads the _k_ , if he reads it.

Keith slumps back in his chair and stares at the scattered books in front of him. In a small mercy, the cold rainstorm thundering along overhead might lighten up just a little by the time that Keith can leave and he won’t have to show up at his place looking like a wet dog. He remains like this for five minutes, before he decides to go find a couch the library. If he’s not going to concentrate, he might as well nap somewhere more comfortable.

He shuts his textbooks and shoved them haphazardly into his backpack. His notes crumple in protest, but Keith’s not a stickler for those kinds of things. He rolls his shoulders, groaning a little as they crack and pushes back from the desk. Keith slings his backpack over his shoulder and abandons his post, in the search of somewhere more comfortable.

He’s determined to find one of the couches shoved in one of the more secluded books of the library. On the hunt, he aimlessly wanders through the aisles of books. It’s a little past ten at night and fairly quiet, so Keith doesn’t miss the sound of a book dropping behind him. Keith thinks nothing of it, till he hears a faint voice swear. He looks over his shoulder, and sees a familiar black overcoat round the corner.

Shiro doesn’t see him when he crouches down to pick up the book. Keith’s flight instinct kicks in; sadly, so does the gorilla part of his brain that’s lighting up like it’s seen a potential mate. In the back of his mind, Keith thinks there’s some type of higher power up there that’s making the two of them constantly run into each other for their own amusement. Shiro reshelves the book and turns around without a second glance in Keith’s direction and before Keith registers what he’s doing, his feet are following Shiro.

Shiro rounds a corner, eyes scanning across titles, mouthing out words as he looks.Keith tells himself that now’s the time to make his presence known or scram, but he finds himself following behind Shiro as quietly as he can. Shiro turns another aisle, and Keith follows at a distance. As soon as he rounds the corner, he runs into a large, wool-covered solid mass of muscle and man.

“Hey,” Shiro looks down at him, amused. “If you want to hang out, all you have to do is ask.”

“Uh,” Keith says unintelligently, feeling his face heat up. Shiro raises an eyebrow, and Keith’s not quite sure how to explain himself. “I uh.”

Shiro doesn’t move, and Keith tries not to squirm on the spot. Shiro waits patiently, but when twenty seconds go without Keith saying anything, he gives him a warm smile.

“I’ll see you around, Keith,” Shiro says, raising a gloved hand to give him a two-fingered salute. He makes to move, but Keith finally gains control of his words.

“Wait,” he says abruptly, wincing at how loud it sounds in the quiet library. “Wait, uh. We should talk.”

“Talk?” Shiro's voice is not unkind, and Keith nods slowly. He's still immensely mortified by past events, but he squares up his shoulders and looks at Shiro with a determined expression. Shiro in turn looks amused.

“I'm sorry I thought you were a vampire,” Keith says. “In retrospective, it was an incredibly weird thing of me to do.”

Shiro's expression falters at that, and he frowns. “Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Keith asks, feeling a little perplexed.

“Don't apologize for that,” Shiro says, tilting his head as he looks at Keith. “It makes sense.”

“I'm an engineering major that thought I had summoned a vampire,” Keith says flatly, and Shiro shrugs.

“We all believe in different things,” he says simply, as if that's that. And by the look that Shiro's giving him, Keith's guessing that it is. So he clears his throat and moves onto the next part of his apology.

“I’m also sorry I ran away last week,” Keith says, trying his best to get all his words out without combusting on the spot.“I’ve never been embarrassed on a level like this before, which is really hard for someone emotionally repressed like me.”

Shiro snorts at that, grins at Keith and Keith’s relieved that he’s managed to crack a smile out of him, “But no seriously, it wasn’t cool of me to run away. You were really nice about everything. I just didn’t know how to deal with the hole I dug myself into.”

“You didn’t dig yourself into a hole,” Shiro says, but the exasperation is clearly laced with fondness. “It’s fine man, seriously.”

“Okay,” Keith replies, and looks off to the side. Part of him feels incredibly relieved that Shiro doesn’t see him as some sort of weirdo, but most of him is feeling more and more nervous as the seconds tick on. Shiro gives him an expectant look, but Keith’s not quite sure what he’s expecting. Shiro’s gaze drops just a fraction down, and suddenly the rest of Keith’s brain kicks into gear.

“Also,” Keith starts, licking his lips in a nervous fidget. Shiro doesn’t meet his eyes, and it gives Keith a little more confidence. “I wanted to know if the offer was still on the table.”

“Offer?” Shiro says, sounding transfixed and Keith nods. That seems to snap him out of it, because he looks back up at Keith.

“You said you wanted to get to know me,” Keith says and emboldened, he takes a step forward. “I was too embarrassed before but, uh. If you still want to. I’m here.”

The words come out stilted. Keith really wishes that he had slept in a little more, just so that he’d have enough energy to not sound like a malfunctioning robot. In his defence, he did not expect to run into Shiro at the library so late at night.

“Yeah,” Shiro says quietly, and the look he gives Keith _burns_. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Later on, Keith and Shiro are going to argue about who took the first step forward before grudgingly conceding that they both did it at the same time. It’s probably something to do with being in a secluded area of a university library that drives the two of them to surge towards each other into a bruising kiss.

To Keith’s non-surprise, Shiro kisses as good as he looks. He tastes like coffee and lemon cake, in stark contrast to Keith probably tasting like the three cans of red bull he’s killed in the past couple of hours. He doesn’t seem to mind though, because he opens up for Keith beautifully and Keith thinks he’s going to drown. He circles his arms around Shiro’s waist, and feels Shiro awkwardly rest his hands on Keith’s backpack. Keith wants to shove off the bag, but he also doesn’t want to look like he’s so desperate that he’s willing to get down in the middle of the stacks.

Even though he kind of is.

Keith’s brain is currently skewing off-axis at the feeling of having Shiro in his arms, and he barely notices that he’s started to groan softly into the kiss. Shiro matches it for a moment and Keith gives a pleased hum at the sound. Shiro cuts him off by biting his bottom lip, and the heat of it reaches Keith’s toes.

“We have to be quiet,” Shiro says, lips brushing against Keith as he speaks. Keith can feel the vibration of his rumbling voice to his core, and captures Shiro in another quick and eager kiss before he lets go.

“One question,” Keith says as he draws back, breathless. Shiro lets out a huff, and Keith reaches up to run a thumb over his bottom lip, before pressing it into the corner of Shiro’s mouth. He gently tugs upwards, revealing Shiro’s canines and looks at them with dark want. They’re sharp, even without the fake teeth he had worn at the club.“Do you still have those fangs?”

**Author's Note:**

> The excellent [kingturtleduck](https://twitter.com/kingturtleduck) has made a brilliant[podfic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fH4dIG5A52Y) for this fic, please go give him some love!!!! thank you so much for doing this ;_;
> 
> you can come throw rocks at either [tagteamme](https://twitter.com/tagteamme) on twitter or [phaltu](http://phaltu.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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